


When I Dream At Night

by theinstinct



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, M/M, Mild Gore, Nightmare, Sort of Lydia Martin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-23
Updated: 2012-09-23
Packaged: 2017-11-14 20:34:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/519255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theinstinct/pseuds/theinstinct
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post S2; Jackson tries to cope but everything that is messed up in his head comes out to haunt him at night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When I Dream At Night

_**"Shut up!"**_   
  
The impact reverberated through him, teeth-rattling with its abruptness, and his arm was like an iron bar, keeping the other boy pinned against the wall. Jackson had brought his free hand up, and his talons glistened wetly. They were just a breath away from that fragile-looking throat and Jackson wondered why he had ever been afraid.   
  
"I could kill you now, you know?" He snarled, baring his human teeth and skinning his lips back. He looked up and glared, letting the other boy see how angry he was, how much he hated him. But then, he dropped his gaze and tracked the pale green path winding along the side of his throat, pulsing with what life he had left. The tips of his talons lined up on that same path. The skin dimpled under the pressure but did not break. Jackson had never wanted so badly to hurt someone.   
  
"No." Matt's eyes were very blue even in the darkness, still crazed. His voice gained strength, "No, you can't."   
  
And Jackson ripped his throat out––

  
––at least, he tried to. His fingers didn't want to work.   
  
"You can't, because you're still mine." Matt never blinked, and now, he was wearing that half-smile of his. "You'll always be mine." His hand was wet and it was slippery against Jackson's arm, cool when it cupped his hand. His thumb played along the ridges of his knuckles. River water and mud. Matt was covered in it. His hair was matted down and dripping, and when he started to push away from the wall, Jackson backed away from him.   
  
He shouldn't have backed away. Belatedly, Jackson decided to stand his ground. "I'm a wolf, now. And you're dead."   
  
"You're my Fury," Matt kept talking as if Jackson hadn't said anything. Kept moving. He put his free hand on Jackson's shoulder and then pushed, "Sit down."   
  
Jackson's body moved of its own accord. The most terrifying part was that Matt hadn't even pushed hard. It was his voice, his _command_ , that made Jackson sit down on his bed.   
  
They were in Jackson's bedroom. Just like every other time. The room was dark, silent except for the patter of rain and the distant howl of the wind outside. His clothes were scattered on the floor, so unlike Jackson, who was fastidious and had always been in the habit of hiding everything away in his many wardrobes, shelves and drawers. The sheets were rumpled, as if there had been a struggle of some kind. And _just like every other time_ , Jackson was covered in blood. He could smell the iron tang of it now, as if paying it any attention literally made it _real_.   
  
Matt sat down beside him and Jackson turned towards him.   
  
"I don't know how I managed all those years without you." Matt pressed his hand over the left side of his chest, over his heart, then smeared the blood there. Jackson's heart rate started to go up, and his skin crawled when Matt ran his bloody fingers down the dip of his pecs and lower, lower than Jackson even wanted to imagine. "Maybe because I didn't know that I would find you. Didn't know what I was missing." Matt pressed in close then, invading his personal space, and it was all Jackson could do not to scramble away from him.   
  
Unfortunately, he wasn't going anywhere Matt didn't want him to go. All Jackson could do was turn his face away when Matt gripped the side of his neck and leaned in. Whatever it was Matt had intended, he ended up with his face buried in the crook of the clean side of Jackson's neck. The smell of river water became even stronger, and underneath that scent, Jackson caught the neck-ruffling musk of snakes.   
  
"You know, I was very hesitant to lend you the camera. I'm glad I did, though. I mean, what's a camera when I have you?" Jackson wanted to say something back, but he couldn't seem to get his throat to work. His Adam's apple bobbed with the effort, but he was stuck with Matt's cool breath fanning against his skin and his cold lips breathing all the words he didn't want to hear. "We're kindred spirits. You know that, right?"   
  
None of it was as bad as when Matt leaned back and brushed his blood-stained fingers over Jackson's jaw. "I think I love you." When he wiped his thumb over Jackson's bottom lip and painted it red, too. "You're such a good boy." When, for some reason that Jackson didn't want to analyse, his lips parted for the fingers that stroked over his tongue, filling his senses with that coppery taste of iron. "I want you more than I want Allison."   
  
Matt started to get up, moving both hands to the hard muscles of Jackson's sides, "I think I know why Danny's still friends with you, even if you're a complete asshole." The look he gave Jackson was proprietary. It was terrifying. When Matt started to push Jackson down on his back, Jackson's breathing had become quick and shallow, his eyes wide.   
  
Suddenly, Matt froze. His smile didn't waver, and the look in his eyes was as intense as ever. But Jackson noticed with something edging towards hysteria that there was an _arrow_ sticking out of his forehead. Hands appeared, wrapped in black leather, and while one grabbed Matt around the throat, a knife opened up a giant red mouth in his torso.   
  
And then there were snakes everywhere. _Live_ snakes. Pouring out of the horrific wound in Matt's body in a slimy ooze of blood and ichor. _Snakes._ No viscera, no organs falling out, just snakes and snakes and _snakes_.   
  
Jackson found that this time, he _could_ move. He scrambled back, away from the snakes, away from Matt's body, but Allison wouldn't let him. The fact that Allison was in nothing but black leather underwear, gloves and blood was just one weird thing on top of another. The giant _bow_ and the _knives_ that were about as long as his forearm took up more of his attention.   
  
The strangest thing of all was that he couldn't smell blood. Or leather. Not even when Allison climbed on top of him and pinned him down on the bed the way Matt had tried to. What he smelled was rose and the sweetness of praline, but over all of that was the scent of raspberries. _Lydia_.   
  
"I think this is long overdue, don't you think?" She even sounded like Lydia, if he closed his eyes. Lilting and high and light. Demanding at all the right times.   
  
Maybe that was why he didn't fight when she started kissing him. Or when her hands started to roam over his skin. When he rolled them over so that he was on top, he caught a glimpse of Matt, bright blue eyes blank and staring at him in accusation, right next to them. But then she was brushing her dark curls out of her eyes and dragging him back down with fingernails biting into his shoulders, raking down his back in bloody furrows.   
  
"I think I like you better like this, Matt," Allison said, laughing breathlessly against his mouth. Her legs squeezed tight around his waist.   
  
Jackson jerked back, but really, he was breathing too hard, his body too eager. But her eyes were bright blue and her smile was a crescent of white. Her hand was in his hair, pulling roughly. "I _really_ like you like this, my Fury." River water surged up when their lips met and––   
  
––Jackson was suddenly awake, fighting with his sheets.   
  
Frantically, he untangled himself from the blankets, a familiar dread coiling in his stomach. Oh, God. It was happening. _God_. Was he going to be covered in blood again? But there was no blood. Just sweat and things he didn't even want to think about. There were too many thoughts vying for his attention and even more emotions. Jackson couldn't pick one over the other, but in the end, it was the sickness that won out.   
  
His breathing was still too quick. It came in short, harsh pants. He felt the acid rising in his throat before he was running for the toilet. A moment later, he threw up. When there was nothing left to vomit, he collapsed in a shaking pile on the cold tiles of the toilet. It took another half an hour before his stomach settled enough that Jackson stopped dry-heaving at the slightest thought of the nightmare.   
  
He took a shower at 4:25am, scrubbing himself raw to get rid of the memory of the dream.

**Author's Note:**

> Could be considered a stand-alone ficlet or a companion fic set before "Filthy Waters Can't Be Washed".


End file.
